"Business or pleasure?"
I turned in my seat after just boarding a plane at Chicago O'Hare. There, settling in next to me, was a petite blonde, dressed neatly in a trim suit that did amazing things to her body.
Smiling, I answered, "A bit of both, I guess."
Hearing my response, she paused.
"You're Southern, right? Do I detect a hint of a North Carolina drawl in there somewhere?"
The accent. It always stumped people.
It was the exact reason I'd hoped to be alone for this flight.
After booking it at the last minute, I'd managed to claim the last first-class seat on the small jet, giving up my preferred aisle seat for the window.
I'd planned on bribing the person in the front row to switch. When you were six foot four, any amount of extra legroom was appreciated, but seeing my possible companion for the next two hours, I swiftly changed my mind.
"You're correct, ma'am," I answered, adding a little extra to the accent I usually tried to mask.
If it led to me getting laid, I'd use all the charisma my Southern roots had afforded me. It worked like a charm. I watched her face light up like a damn Christmas tree in the dead of winter.
"How'd you become so savvy in detecting the subtleties of Southern dialects? Or are North Carolina boys just of particular interest to you?"
She giggled.
A damn giggle. Jesus, I was wasting my time.
She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, giving me a quick glance, and her face flushed as I took her in.
She was young. no more than twenty-three I'd wager. She sat in first class like it was a habit rather than a luxury. I took another moment to study her—the professional suit and megawatt smile—and it suddenly made sense.
Probably a sales rep, I decided.
"I went to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill," she explained. "My roommate was a native, and it didn't take long to memorize the way she said certain things."
"We are a specific breed," I joked, watching those baby blues light up with delight. "So, tell me, how did you get from UNC to selling pharmaceuticals?" I said, glancing down at the large black carry-on under her seat with a bright white company logo I instantly recognized.
A look of surprise crossed her flawless features.
"How did you know?" She laughed before adding, "You must be a doctor!"
I scrunched my shoulders. "Guilty. Actually, I'm a surgeon at MacNeal, here in Chicago."
"Well, isn't that a coincidence? I work MacNeal. What specialty?"
"I'm a Cardiothoracic surgeon," I answered, watching her gaze linger a bit on my empty ring finger.
This no-name pharmacy rep had a thing for doctors, I was guessing. And damn if she wasn't trying to hide it. She was most likely making a fortune, flirting with lonely doctors and their hospital staff, as she searched around for Dr. Right.
Too bad for her, that wasn't me.
But I'd enjoy the hell out of flirting with her.
I didn't deal with pharmaceuticals much, but I'd probably buy anything she threw my way just to spend a little more time checking her out. With those good looks and killer set of green eyes, she could have worked her way to the top in a matter of months.
YOU ARE READING
The Choices I've Made (By the Bay #1)
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